


In No Condition

by messedupstargazer



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Dad P. T. Barnum, Don't copy to another site, Fever, Found Family, Gen, Hurt Phillip Carlyle, I'm Bad At Titles, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Posting Here Because I Need That External Validation lol, Sickfic, Worried P. T. Barnum, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-05
Updated: 2020-02-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22567105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messedupstargazer/pseuds/messedupstargazer
Summary: Prompt: So for the Greatest Showman: I have this thing with P.T. being a sort of, kind of father figure to Phillip. So maybe P.T.'s going to a show a few months after Phillip's taken over, and Phillip is clearly unwell but still trying to push through for a sold-out show, and P.T. kind of assesses his condition and tends to him backstage after?
Relationships: P. T. Barnum & Phillip Carlyle
Comments: 6
Kudos: 129





	In No Condition

It almost made Phineas jealous with how often Phillip’s shows sold-out. He knew he and Phillip had built quite the empire of acts from around the world, and with Phillip at the helm, the circus was growing bigger and more acclaimed every week it seemed. The newest faces on the posters, two sword swallowers who could swallow a foot-long sword and spit it out without harming himself, were debuting today, so Phineas found himself on the train to see the circus, with Charity’s blessing, saying she’d wanted some mother-daughter bonding time with their girls. But, as was his habit from his ringleader days, he still showed up early to help. He said his hellos, and entered the mostly empty tent where he found Phillip up on the trapeze shelf, seemingly leaning against the pole.

“Need any help up there, Phillip?” Phineas called up, already getting his feet on the ladder.

Phillip didn’t answer him, which was odd but not unheard of. Phillip would sometimes get so invested in his work that his ears just stopped working.

So he tried again. “Phillip, is there anything you need? Anything I can get you?”

Still no answer.

Phineas didn’t think anything of it, approaching the trapeze pedestal board with ease. He found Phillip nearly slumped over, with the pole keeping him upright. His face was flushed as he was panting, seemingly exhausted, and his hands shook as he was trying to rethread the trapeze wires.

“Phillip?”

His voice startled the young man.

“PT! Hi. Didn’t hear you coming up.” Phillip’s voice was strained, rough. His eyes were a little bloodshot, and sweat beaded at his forehead.

“You alright?” Phineas asked, concern slipping into his voice.

“I’m fine, PT, just didn’t sleep that long last night.” Phillip dismissed. “I was up too late trying to get everything done. You remember what that’s like.”

Phineas sighed. “I really do. Need any help?”

“I can’t get this wire tied right.” Phillip admitted. “Usually W.D. or Anne can take care of it, but I’ve got W.D. on helping with the elephants since two of the trainers are out sick and Anne’s helping out Lettie and the girls with their make-up and I thought I could get these wires tied while they were doing that and I just can't.”

Phineas nearly snickered but didn’t want his apprentice feeling like he was laughing at him. Phineas easily sideswiped Phillip on the platform and Phillip moved to allow Phineas access to the wires. With a practiced ease, Phineas tied the wires to the platform tightly and correctly.

“Come on, let’s head down.” Phineas said once he was done. “You don’t look too good, kid.”

“I'm fine, PT.” Philip groaned in annoyance. “I'll get some good sleep tonight.”

“If you say so.” Phineas acquiesced.

They made their way down the ladder, with Phineas going first and Phillip slowly following after.

“This should be the last of it, PT.” Phillip said. “At least the last of the stuff I know how to do. I've got to go and change, why don’t you grab your seat and wait for showtime?”

“Trying to get rid of me already, kid?” Phineas teased, his hand moving of its own accord to ruffle Phillip’s hair.

Phillip dodged easily, laughing lightly. “Always, old man. I'll see you after the show.”

Phineas nodded, and left for his usual spot on the benches, where he had the best view of the show in his opinion. The show would be starting soon, and the benches would be filled with throngs of people waiting for the incredulity of the circus.

It was Phillip's first near fall where Phineas first noticed it. It was a small slip, one the audience had no idea was a misstep, but Phineas saw it clear as day. It was an easy step, one he'd rehearsed with Phillip a dozen times over but Phillip struggled, as if his body couldn’t keep up with his muscle memory. Phineas then zeroed in on Phillip nearly the entire show, forcing himself to look at the new acts he'd come all this way to see, but his thoughts couldn’t help but drift back to Phillip. He knew the tells, he'd done them himself, of a performer who wasn’t up to performing but was still pushing on. He saw Phillip cough into his jacket as the audience’s attention was drawn elsewhere, saw his feet struggle to move to the choreography he knew Phillip would know asleep, and saw him leaning far too heavily on the spat he used as ringmaster.

It was the smiles that bothered Phineas most though. Ever since recruiting him, Phineas saw how much Phillip loved performing. The joy that exuded from the young man often brought delight to anyone who saw him dance, the lilt in his voice causing anyone who heard it want to sing out with him and garble any lyrics they didn’t know, and his smile was a blinding, infectious smile that grabbed your attention and wouldn’t let go until the last curtain call. But Phineas didn’t see those smiles tonight, he saw the fake ones Phillip used when talking about his old party days, how he spoke about the plays he wrote under the influence of several different kinds of alcohol, how he spoke when his father somehow ended up coming up. It was a smile he had learned was hiding so much pain Phineas could hardly bear it.

When the last note hit, the audience already jumping up in their seats, screams and applause deafening the area, Phillip seemed to be panting like he’d just carried an elephant on his back. On instinct, Phineas was on his feet, his hands clapping together like his life depended on it, but he couldn’t stop staring at Phillip. He seemed out of breath, muffling coughing that didn’t appear to stop, and his whole body looked like it was shaking. An untrained eye would confuse it for the adrenaline of the show but Phineas knew better. Phillip never shook after a show.

As the people started to head out once the applause died down, and Phillip encouraged them to visit the stalls and sellers on their way out, encouraged them to come again to see something new every night, that Phineas started to make his way to Phillip. Phillip must not have seen him coming because he turned to Anne, and gave her an excuse he couldn’t hear, and immediately made his way to their office.

He could hear the cough before he opened the door, deep and wet. He opened the door to find Phillip on one knee, struggling to keep himself upright by holding onto the desk with white knuckles, an overused handkerchief pressed against his mouth.

“Oh, Phillip.” He knelt next to the boy. Phineas gently rubbed circles into his back, trying to soothe Phillip's irritated lungs. He noticed an unnatural heat seeping into his fingers, and he placed a hand on Phillip’s forehead.

“You're burning up!” Phineas shouted. “Why didn’t you say anything? I could’ve gone on tonight.”

Phillip opened his mouth to try and answer but only more coughing came out.

“You didn’t know the new steps.” Phillip finally gasped out, his eyes wet with unshed tears. “No time to teach you. Show sold-out. Couldn’t postpone the debut.”

He bit back another reply about improvising but the long conversation about how them being partners to share fifty-fifty of the business meant allowing Phineas to take over when Phillip wasn’t feeling well would have to wait. Phillip was certainly in no condition for it now.

“Come on, let’s get you to the couch.” Phineas said, hauling the young man into his arms, half-walking, half-carrying Phillip to the couch.

Phillip groaned as he sank into the cushions. “’M sorry. Didn’t mean to worry you.”

Phineas sighed, pouring Phillip a glass of water from the desk pitcher. It was a bit warm from being in the heated office but warm water was better than no water at all.

“Drink up, Phil.” Phineas pressed the glass into Phillip’s hands. Phillip's hand shook as he raised the glass to his lips but he managed a few sips without spilling.

With the practiced ease of raising two children, Phineas managed to get Phillip out of his sweaty ringmaster’s jacket and undershirt, undid his belt and removed his shoes. Phineas then took the water pitcher and brought out his own small handkerchief, Charity had just done laundry, so it was nice and clean though it wasn’t very big. He dipped the handkerchief in the pitcher, and wrung it out.

Phineas then pulled the chair from behind the desk to sit beside him, unable to fight the urge to run his hands through Phillip’s hair like he would with his own daughters. Phillip's eyes fluttered, and his entire body appeared to relax a bit.

“Feels good.” Phillip slurred, seemingly halfway to sleep until a harsh coughing fit ripped through him. “Ugh, I feel like an elephant stepped on my chest.”

Phineas frowned. “How long have you been coughing?”

“Couple ‘a days.” Phillip replied after another sip of water. “Didn’t think it would get so bad.”

“Did you fall?” Phineas asked quickly, trying to check the boy for hidden injuries. Of course Phillip would push himself too far for the circus, of course he wouldn’t tell anyone he was sick, 

Phillip shook his head just as quickly, though he didn’t open his eyes. “No, woke up with the cough.”

Phineas sighed in relief, falling back in the chair. If Phillip had fallen, he could have had broken ribs. Against his will, his mind showed the boy beside him with a bloody cough, burning with an infection, collapsing when he wasn’t looking, _dying_ because he wasn’t there for him. So instead of entertaining that image in his head, he focused on mopping the sweat from the young man’s brow, gently brushing his handkerchief across the searing skin. Phillip moaned at the contact. Phineas then rewet the handkerchief and folded it, placing it upon Phillip's head.

“You should go home.” Phillip murmured after a little while. It nearly startled Phineas, he'd thought the boy had finally fallen asleep.

“I'm not leaving you, Phillip.” Phineas replaced the wet handkerchief, and cupped Phillip's cheek. The fever hadn’t gotten worse but he wasn’t entirely certain it had gotten better either. “Someone needs to look after you and I can handle any circus problem that comes up. Just get some rest, son.”

Phillip didn’t notice his slip, or didn’t comment on it, and Phineas was grateful. Phillip already had a father, no matter how strained their relationship, and it wasn’t him. Phineas had already nearly lost the title once to his own children, he couldn’t go giving himself the title to another, especially a grown man who could make his own decisions. But his hand still found his way to Phillip's hair, threading itself with Phillip’s curls. Phillip gave a small noise of contentment, one he probably wasn’t even aware he made. 

Phineas couldn’t fight the smile on that one.

They stayed that way until Phillip shivered under Phineas' touch, and he took off the handkerchief.

Wordlessly, (which was a miracle all in itself) Phineas got the spare blanket he knew was still in the side table drawer. It was a bit old, a bit thinner than what they had for when they needed to sleep on the sofa but that blanket, sewed with love from Lettie to keep them warm on cold nights, was entirely too thick for a fever. This one was perfect. He draped it over Phillip's still form, and even though the blanket was threadbare, the young man’s shivering eased. On instinct, he tucked Phillip in as if he were one of his girls.

“Thanks, Dad.” Phillip murmured, seemingly dropping off into sleep, his breath evening out.

For a moment, Phineas just stared at him, his body and mind frozen by the simple words Phillip had barely managed to say. Slowly he sank into the desk chair, his hand dragging across his face. Phillip could’ve been thinking of his own father, but whenever he spoke of the elder Carlyle Phillip had not given the impression that he was allowed to call his father ‘Dad’, let alone that the man would tuck Phillip in when he was a child, and he _did_ have a fever. But, in that moment, he decided he didn’t care. If Phillip even remembered this tomorrow, which was doubtful, they could discuss it then. For now, Phineas merely leaned down and kissed the top of Phillip's head, eliciting another noise of contentment.

“Goodnight, son.”


End file.
